


Betwixt the Pages

by Cers



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon? Don't know her., Fluff, Just...soft romance guys., M/M, Meeting of two minds, Not compliant with C2E97 information, Not compliant with EGTW details, SUWP (Stupid Usless Wizards Pining), What's sexier than wizards? BOOKS, Won't be too game-plot heavy or relevant, and maybe a bit of UST, canon-divergence, from after they get the house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cers/pseuds/Cers
Summary: “Do you perhaps, ah, have a book on this that I could borrow? Or just skim through? I am a very fast reader.”It was an innocuous question. A very innocent one. Accompanied with a shy, but slightly proud expression at that.. And he understands, more than perhaps the party of his friends did. Books were knowledge. Access to what was unknown, the results of other’s work. Pages that bore fruit of hard labour, research, thoughts, passion. History.Secrets.Both Caleb Widogast and Essek Thelyss share a passion. For learning, for information. For data, and knowledge. And books. What happens when their shared passion blurs into something else?
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 17
Kudos: 120





	1. Exposition

“Do you perhaps, ah, have a book on this that I could borrow? Or just skim through? I am a very fast reader.”

It was an innocuous question. A very innocent one. Accompanied with a shy, but slightly proud expression at that.. And he understands, more than perhaps the party of his friends did. Books were knowledge. Access to what was unknown, the results of other’s work. Pages that bore fruit of hard labour, research, thoughts, passion. History.

Secrets. 

Books could be dangerous in the wrong hands. The hesitation in his question betrays that he also knows this. 

“I do not wish to overstep any boundaries, _Herr_ Thelyss . I appreciate any information you are able to impart,” he continues, and Essek realises he has not answered yet, merely glanced at the man. “I just have so many questions on the topic, and I fear you do not wi-,” he pauses, avoiding his eyes for a moment. “Ah, have that time to tutor me. I know you are a busy man.” 

Essek regards his… student. Yes, that would be a word for him. His new ward, one of seven. That he is also teaching low-level Dunamancy to. He leans back in the seat, folding his arms. One hand comes to trail a finger across his mouth in thought. 

He pretends not to see Widogast fleetingly follow the movement. The answer he gives even surprises himself.

“I have… _something_ I could leave in your care. I will bring it on my next visit,” and he leans forward, clasping his hands, holding the wizard’s gaze. “You will have it for one day, and then it will be returned to me.”

They had been in the ‘Xhorhaus’ study for a little over three hours now. There were two empty cups of tea (made by Caduceus, deposited by Beauregard with a hard smile) on the desk. The noise of the busy household had long-faded into his peripheral, with the occasional bump above and chimes jingling twitching his ears. He mentally praises Widogast’s ability to focus on _anything_ around the tumult that is the Mighty Nein. 

When Essek had explained the initial description and outline of the spells he was to teach at the start of this lesson, Widogast had lit up- and then dimmed. Like he was attempting to hide his excitement, contain it. As if it were disallowed. Shameful even. It had been a high-raise of the eyebrows, a parting of the mouth, a widening of those blue eyes, and twitch of his hands- before it all shut down into a focused nod. The perfect, attentive student. 

Now, simply offering him a book on the basics of Dunamancy replicates this reaction tenfold. Widogast’s entire body swings around in his chair, fully facing Essek. His quill was part-dropped, part-thrown across the desk in his excitement and the smile teased a flash of white. His knee bumps Essek's thigh but neither comment. It was pure, it was visceral and it was immediate. 

“Ja, _ja_ , of course. Danke!” And he is practically _vibrating_ with the notion. All from a simple book that any arcana student would groan at for its sheer banality. 

But Widogast of course did not have any prior knowledge it seemed. This was all new, and it _excited_ him. Essek could understand that all too well. It had been a long time since he had felt the electric trepidation of something undiscovered to him. Something to be devoured, and absorbed. _Understood_. And now he sees the very memory of those feelings in an elated man before him. 

Essek was only a little outwardly startled at the reaction, when he gave in to the chuckle building in his throat. He covers it with a cough, which causes Widogast to give pause to his behaviour. The shoulders slump, roll back and once more he sees him withdraw, schooling his face into something _proper_. 

Essek hates it. 

So he attempts… a modest smile. It works, a little, to his surprise. Widogast does not resume his previous enthusiasm, but settles on something more… relaxed. An improvement. Essek explains, “It is not anything monumental, just a textbook we give to those starting their pursuits in Dunamancy. It should cover the basic concepts and hopefully solve any … budding questions you possess. If there are any you have that remain unanswered - and I suspect there will be - we can discuss that afterwards.” 

He is rewarded with a smile of his own, and a quiet expression of thanks once again. Essek can read Widogast plain and clear in the moment- he is tempering the joy and anticipation of turning the pages and digesting its contents to keep Essek’s respect. Were it not for the sudden reaction earlier, then his flushed cheeks, unrelenting smile and bright eyes would give him away. It's...refreshing, Essek thinks. To meet someone who takes such delight in the prospect of _learning_. Essek wonders if this is a ruse, or simply for Dunamancy alone - which is enough to check his guard on the human wizard. 

They wrap up the lesson, Essek watches as Caleb stretches high, almost mimicking his familiar. Essek resists the urge to do the same, simply rolling his own shoulders, and lifting from the ground. He settles his cloak around him properly, and follows Widogast from the study.

His coat is off, revealing (new, he suspects) travelling clothes, cut in a Kryn fashion. Certainly an improvement from arriving in the Court of the Bright Queen in a leather harness to say the least. And the following patched-up rags he had paraded in. 

It is becoming on him, and like the others of his party, would aid a little to assimilate them into the neighbourhood. Though- and as they exit the house he glances to the newest, bright addition to the house- perhaps not much. They were certainly making a name for themselves. Loud in more ways than one. 

Widogast walks him out to the garden, Beauregard peeking her head out from another room to wave him goodbye. A few others were heard about, and he believes one or two were out on shopping excursions. 

“Thank you, again, for your time and tutelage. It is most appreciated.” Widogast fiddles with his hands nervously, courteous as always. 

“It was my pleasure,” Essek quips. “It is not... a _terrible_ ordeal when one's student is eager and quick to learn as you.”

And if _that_ doesn’t just make him beam. Widogast scrambles for words and settles on a soft ‘danke’ instead. Essek bows his head, hiding his smirk, and goes to leave.

“Oh, one more thing-” Essek turns back to him. “The book will not be in, uh, Zemnian, or Common- this will not be an issue, will it?”

Widogast straightens his back, timidity forgotten. “Ah, no. I have means to understand other languages otherwise unknown to me.”

Essek nods in response. “Good. Very well then, until next time.”

“ _Ja_. Goodnight, Herr Thelyss.”

* * *

In the comfort of his tower, Essek peruses his library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves covered a wall. A functional, and comfortable armchair occupies a corner. Several sconces emit a pale blue light, and a rug of deep purple decorates the floor. Modest, but suitable. His desk rests by the window, curtains framing it. His paperwork was orderly and neat, his quills and ink at the ready for immediate use if necessary. Everything had its own place in his sanctuary. Including his collection of various writings.

Most were books for his own reference, others published- and unpublished- papers of his peers. Essays from across the ages were organised, and volumes of law filled thick spaces on his shelves. Some editions of the works were outdated, others not. A section dedicated to cultural history here, political history there. Front and centre were his pride and joys- rare publications, first editions and two ancient texts passed through his Den. Atlases- local and worldy- he had a handful. There were still spaces in these shelves. It was not a complete collection by any means, but he was proud of it. Maybe even a little smug. Perhaps the topic that boasted the largest selection of works was that of the Arcane and of Dunamancy. 

Essek runs his fingers over the familiar bindings. Not a few of these were his own musings, some of his own research and development. Other codexes were standard texts, some were rarer, one or two compendiums on long-term loan from the Conservatory. But they are not why he inspects his shelves now. No.

He envisions in his mind the last place he had seen what he seeks, and bends down to the second-bottom shelf. He trails along, touching each cover until he finds his target. Muttering a few words, he undoes the arcane lock surrounding the tome, and pulls it free in a swift motion. 

Hmm. He thumbs through the pages. There are writings overlapping the blocks of text, arrows and scribbles. His own, from so long ago. Not as fluid as his calligraphy nowadays, but recogniseable nonetheless. No. It was too personal, he decides. And outdated. He himself had updated the text, and the newer edition was now in current circulation. It doesn't stop him reminiscing through a couple more chapters though, a slight smile pulling at his lips. And then, after a brief foray into nostalgia, he secures the book back in its place, mind made up.

Instead he crafts a message with instructions to the Conservatory. The book is delivered to him within the hour. Good. 

The next day, he makes his way to the Xhorhaus and finds it….oddly quiet. There is rain drizzling, but it doesn't bother him. One light appears to be on by the balcony, a sign of some life outside of the hanging jars. A chap on the door eventually reveals a wary-looking, tall woman. Yasha... He thinks her name is?

“Hello? Oh. Shadowhand. Can I help you?” her voice is quiet for her size, oddly so. She doesn’t appear armed, but is tense and cautious. 

“Good morning, I apologise for disturbing you unannounced. I was wondering if, ah, Mr. Widogast was available?” He doesn't elaborate further. Nor does he muse on why he doesn't elaborate. 

She watches him, expression unchanging. “Ah, no. He is still- It - it is still very early. For us.” 

Essek catches himself before he grimaces. _Of course._ Their body clocks operate a little differently from Kryn. It _would_ be unsociable hours for them. He mentally notes the time as 'unsuitable'.

“Ah I- I did not think of that. I am sorry.” He stares for a moment, before making a decision. He pulls the book out from his mantle and holds it out. “Could I ask you to make sure he gets this, please? He should be expecting it.”

She reaches out- bare arm showing off muscles he’s not ashamed to admit he’s impressed by - and takes it from him carefully. She doesn’t read the title, or look at it closely. Or at all, merely to take it from him. Somehow, that makes Essek like her a little more. 

“Yes. I will pass this along for you.”

He bows his head deeply. “My thanks, and apologies again for the disruption. I shall try to keep to better hours for you in the future.” She just nods and gives a calm, but not unkind, _goodbye_ before closing the door. 

The chimes rattle and settle while he stares dumbfounded a moment before he makes his way back to the Lucid Bastion for his own workload. 

Unexpectedly, very late that night, Essek receives a delivery from a local courier. A small rectangular parcel wrapped in plain paper and bound with silver thread. A letter is attached addressed to ‘Shadowhand Essek Thelyss’. In Common. The curl of the writing is familiar.

The parcel is the book he had deposited that very morning. He shouldn't be surprised at its timely return. Widogast had state he was a fast reader. And yet here he stands, holding it at arm's length as though it burned. The letter, also written on simple paper is only a few words.

_“Thank you for sharing this, Herr Thelyss. It is most impressive and enlightening. I look forward to our next meeting, and hearing your thoughts on my queries._ _And if it's not too much trouble, for you to hear my thoughts on possible applications._

_Respectfully, Caleb Widogast.”_

Essek sits in contemplative silence for a long while after that, twirling the refolded letter in his hand and staring at the book, still nested in the unwrapped paper. 

Why did the thought of a discussion he could hold with any first-year Dunamancy student fill him with such... thrill? 


	2. The Inciting Incident

Their next meeting was more than Essek could anticipate. 

Arriving on the doorstep on another dreary morning (though at a more suitably appropriate time for them), Essek is invited in promptly and guided again to the study by Beauregard. Who yells for Caleb. Who rushes out in a panic of fear, hand resting on his component pouch, blue eyes wild-

Befor they settle on Essek and he immediately drops his guard. He greets Essek kindly, before turning to his companion and berating her for worrying him. Something about an “inside voice, _please_ , Beauregard.” She raises an eyebrow, punches him in the shoulder and leaves them both alone. A yell of ‘enjoy your _nerd-time_ , nerds!’ follows from where she went. Widogast chuckles fondly. It's...a pleasant sound. 

Changes had been made to the house in the few days since he had been. While his Den had provided a certain amount of basic furnishings to allow immediate inhabiting, it was by no means complete. The effect of this was two-fold. 

Firstly, it meant that his Den did not need to spend too much on furniture and fittings that might soon be replaced. A boon to say the least, while still gaining the favour of the newcomers. They were made comfortable, and had so far been very verbal about their appreciation of such consideration.

The second effect meant that with all the spare space, newly-awarded funds, and time on their hands, The Mighty Nein had set about to, well, settling. 

Personality started to exude from the house. The front door chimes were a first obvious sign of this, as was the _massive glowing tree_ , but as he travelled from the entry, to the central chamber and on to the study, it was clear that they were truly making this place a home. And that resonated with something peculiar in Essek that he couldn’t name. Or wanted to. 

Little hooks to hold coats and cloaks were affixed (a little askew) in the hallway. They were in a line descending in a diagonal downwards as one went along to no doubt correspond with their varying heights. Two items were currently hung up at present- including a purple garb in a Kryn cut he recognised as Widogast’s. 

The study too had undergone some development in his absence, including the addition of a bigger table in the middle, with three chairs tucked underneath it. A fourth was pulled out, as though previously occupied. This would line up with the spread of papers littering the table in an arc organised chaos in front of the out-of-place chair, and a flustered Widogast promptly apologising for the mess. 

“Ah, I was not expecting you so soon. Or rather, I got a bit carried away with my thoughts and did not notice the time.” He was moving immediately to clear it all away.

“No, it is fine. I can appreciate a busy mind and the need to replicate thoughts before they escape us. And I imagine you will just be getting it all out again anyway in the next couple of hours.” He provides a charming smile with his words. 

Widogast immediately relaxes with a nervous laugh, and ceases in his tidying, the papers resuming their previous positions. Instead, he pulls out a chair beside his own and indicates for him to be seated. Essek obliges, adjusting his mantle as he situates. 

“May I get you a drink, or some food perhaps? Caduceus has been, ah, experimenting with local wares and the results are quite something.” He is so proud of his friend’s results, with a curious twinkle in his eye, that Essek almost doesn’t decline. 

“A cup of that tea- what we had last time, if I may. It was peculiar but left a pleasant aftertaste.” 

Caleb grins a little. “ _Ja !_ It was, I believe, one of the Casala’s. I think he has some of them left, let me check. I will be but a moment.” And then he’s gone, footsteps carrying through the house on the wooden floors, leaving Essek with naught but that curious, and confusing statement.

The door was left ajar, and Essek could see no one in immediate view. Cocking his head a little, he could hear life around the house, but no one close.

He took the opportunity to scan the scattered papers. Most of it is in Zemnian, in a curl of handwriting he was beginning to become familiar with, so he reaches under his mantle and undoes his component pouch. A sprinkling of salt, the right utterances, and with his fingers fluttering over the jottings, the words are all translated to his understanding. Some of the arcane runes and formulae were universal and needed no translating. 

Most of it is regurgitation of the textbook Essek had delivered. A lot of it resulting scribbles were connecting ideas and theories not yet explored at that level. Essek felt his eyebrows raise in an impressed response. It was _remarkable_ how much Widogast had done in such a short time. 

He got through only three pages of many strewn about before the footsteps returned, and his - student?- _host_ had returned, tray in hand. A soft ‘meow’ sounded and Essek turned to see his feline familiar skulking at the far end of the room watching him closely. Interesting. 

“We are in luck, Caduceus had some of the Casala’s left over.” The tray - a fancy, silver item with a bit of tarnish - rattled a little as it was placed. The cups were a curious opposite- one was hewn and wooden. Clearly haven seen much travel. The other was a painted tea-cup, complete with slightly chipped saucer. Widogast delivered that one to him. “Apologies,” he went on. “We are still in the middle of furnishing and our crockery is a little lacking still.” Essek was aware, having drunk out of the same cup only a few days ago, but did not remind the man. 

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” he instead comments, picking up the tea. “I can see that you are indeed settling in, though?” He indicates around the room. 

Accompanying the new table (which Essek realises is to accomodate Widogast’s messy studying practices now) there is a bookcase across from them. It is not floor-to-ceiling like his own, but instead a second-hand model, as evidenced by its slight slant to one side. It appears to be otherwise sturdy in its dark vermaloc wood, and complements the fashionable interior decór of the room. From what Essek had seen of the house, they had not really altered the walls or floors, more focused on fleshing out their new abode.

There were other small knick-knacks and a ‘new’ armchair by the front window that the familiar had been resting on, but apart from a second door leading to another room, there was no new additions. Strangely, Essek found it a little sad to see such an empty bookcase. 

“Uh, _ja_ , we are getting there,” Widogast replies. “It is certainly a project, especially since a lot of us have not had a permanent home in some time. We are quite excited to make one. Thank you again- to you and your Den, that is, for the house.” Essek frowns at this, but Widogast does not elaborate further. Instead he lifts a plate of what he _thinks_ are some sort of biscuit or cookie onto the table, and sets the tray aside. He then sits beside Essek and regards his papers. 

“Right. Okay. So-” and he fumbles through, leafing under even more paper Essek did not have the chance to explore. Essek watches his hands and notes the ink stains blotting them. Upon further inspection, Essek can see dark bags under Widogast’s eyes.

“Are you…sleeping well?” Widogast pauses at the question and looks to him wide-eyed as though accused of something terrible. “The house, the bed- it is … to your satisfaction?” He is trying to be as delicate as possible. 

Luckily he takes Essek’s meaning, saving him from further elaboration. “Oh- _oh_ ! Ja, ja, it is all fine. Lovely in fact. Thank you. Again. I erm, _heh_ , I get a little caught up in myself when I am focused. I did not realise the time- as… as you know.” There is now a slight flush creeping across his face. 

And oh, if that is not a familiar feeling- to be caught up in the euphoria and fervor of new knowledge, to seek to understand all facets immediately as quickly as his body will allow. Many sleepless nights gone by while diving into the deep depths of new angles and newer subjects. To be held back by biological limitations- yes, Essek understood this feeling all well. 

So he says as much. Widogast lights up at that, and Essek preens a little. 

And then they are back into it. 

Much to Essek’s surprise, Widogast’s evident exhaustion does not hamper his thoughts. He is vocal with his questions, and attentive to Essek’s answers. His enqueries are pointed and direct, always seeking that new angle. 

It really should unnerve Essek how much this man- this _human_ \- from the Empire is taking an interest in Dunamancy. It should unnerve him further how easy Essek finds to give in to him. To barely hesitate and think ‘ _should I even be telling him this?_ ” before his replies are spilling treacherously from his lips. But when was the last time he had been challenged so? To be gifted with a student - a peer- so involved, so engaged in Essek’s field of speciality? It had been a long time. Almost never, in fact. Was it any wonder Essek didn’t put up much resistance?

And Essek couldn’t help but patiently answer every one of his questions. It was … intoxicating. Watching Widogast connect dots and threads and piecing together the theories he was given… it was almost addictive. 

The more Essek gave, the more Widogast prodded. And poked. And pieced. And untangled. And wove. If a concept eluded him, he attempted a different visual, or an alternate metaphor for it until he was satisfied with his understanding. He was persistent, determined to make sure he _got it._ This wasn’t a slight on Essek’s explanations, but rather a slight communication barrier that for all their spells, were unable to overcome immediately all the time. 

There was a little spellwork in their musings too, more to do with the formation of gestures, and why such movements and components were utilised over others. Widogast countered with intelligent what-ifs and why-nots, and Essek was happy to explain why such somatics sometimes didn’t cohere with Dunamancy. 

Widogast was enraptured. With every indulgent explanation he would lean forward as though Essek were whispering. His eyes were affixed to Essek’s whenever he gave his commentary, only breaking to write carefully crafted notes. On occasion he would slide his paper to Essek to confirm, and once or twice Essek gently plucked the quill from his hand to correct a formula iteration. 

All-in-all it was more than Essek had anticipated after the letter. He knew Widogast was intelligent. That much had been demonstrated on his first day arriving in Rosohna. He inferred that Widogast had received formal arcane training, despite his explanations of ‘self-taught’. There was evidence of schooling somewhere in his words, but most of it was layered beneath his own findings and thoughts. But to see the cogwheels turning- and at such a _pace-_ while he was already _tired…_ was incredible. What speed they could go at together if he were well-rested?

And that was a dangerous thought indeed. 

Essek had already taught this man a lot about their renowned school of magic. Too much in fact, given how little they truly knew about these ‘Heroes of the Dynasty’. 

And yet… He still wanted to give _more_. Just to see what Widogast would _do_ with it. To see if he would follow the same trails that Essek had throughout his studies, the same conclusions, and ideas. Or maybe he would take it in alternative directions. Newer ones, fresher even. Their time together today had proven that he thought in a different way to Essek, his visualisations unique and vibrant. Essek’s own were usually also abstract, but in a sharper way. 

While Widogast had indicated sharing of his own ideas in the letter, they didn’t end up getting around to them- more focused they were on the intricacies and advanced development of the simpler concepts and their limitations. Essek couldn’t recall _ever_ having such involved discussions to the point that he forgot what time it was. 

It isn’t until a knock on the door interrupts and the goblin girl (woman, she had a husband) - Nott - peaks her head in and asks if they want dinner. 

Widogast’s head snaps up at that, and his eyes glaze over for a second. “Ah! I did not realise how late it was. Herr Thelyss I apologise for keeping you all day.” He shoots up, closing the spellbook he had removed from his holster earlier, and moves to tidy up their empty cups and plate. 

The interruption was welcome. Despite their enthusiasm, Essek could see that Widogast was flagging. Hopefully he would rest tonight, and allow his mind to digest what they had conversed about today. 

Essek excuses himself to their parlour, declining the invitation, while Widogast and Nott take the tray back to their kitchen. When he returns, alone, he is slumping a little, face tired and a bit drawn, but eyes bright and enthused. Essek feels a little guilty for not taking more responsibility and ending their discussions earlier- but he too had been caught up in the eagerness Widogast had displayed. And he himself, if he was honest.

“ _Danke_ , for your time and mind again. You are truly brilliant and well-informed, Herr Thelyss. I am lucky to have access to such a patient teacher.” His smile is tired, and wide, and infectious. 

Essek fails to hide his responding smile with a bow of his head. “And I am equally lucky to have a student so bright and curious. As I said before, it is not a terrible ordeal.” But there was one thing he really _should_ take responsibility for, temptation or not. “I think, however, that maybe enough on Dunamancy for now. If we pry further, we risk toeing lines that probably are best not yet crossed.”

Widogast cannot fail to hide his disappointment in his fatigue, but covers it up swiftly with understanding almost immediately. “ _Ja._ Ja. That is … expected. Thank you for your teachings so far. I er, will muse on what we have spoken about today.” And he smiles weakly.

And Essek hates that. He hates denying someone who just wishes to _learn_ for the sake of learning. 

He wants to spill all the Dunamantic secrets, the advanced concepts and theories, just to see what this man would _do_ with such knowledge. To see how he would set about solving it. But that is tricky ground. Widogast is _of the Empire_ , even if he claims to be no friend of it. They are still newcomers, this band of misfits. And Essek really has pushed the boundaries with what he’s done today already.

But he … wants to see this mind in action more. To converse, and exchange their opinions and ideas. Perhaps...on other topics? He stops and starts a couple of times before settling on an opening. “Perhaps… we can continue our… lessons anyway? If you are agreeable. The topics do not have to be strictly about Dunamancy, and you are under my … Den’s care. I would be happy to provide you with information on whichever you wish to discuss.” His lips tug into a slight smile. “Within reason, of course.” 

Widogast once again looks like he was caught in trouble, before taking a breath. “Uh… ja, _ja_ that would be most welcome. Definitely. I - _we_ \- seek to learn more about our new home here in Rosohna. Would you be willing to teach me the local history? I am afraid it did not come up very often when I was … researching in the Empire.”

History. That was a safe subject. That Essek could definitely do. “Yes, that is a suitable topic, and very appropriate. I would be more than happy to help you settle further into the city, and having an understanding of your surroundings and its people would aid that.” 

Caleb beams at him, even through his tiredness. “ _Wunderbar_. I look forward to it- at your earliest convenience. I have enjoyed our time so far, Herr Essek. It would pain me to lose your company already so soon.” 

_Herr Essek._ He can’t help a not-entirely-unwelcome chill that flutters through him hearing his name wrapped around that accent. 

“It is a pleasure, Mr. Widogast, and I-”

“Caleb. Please.”

That grants him pause. It’s a familiarity Essek isn’t always allowed with others. Or offers. And yet within only a short time of knowing him, this man is already intimating a closer acquaintanceship than Essek would not have granted them yet for a little while longer.

And yet, he finds that he doesn’t mind that too terribly. 

So he tests the name out on his tongue. “Caleb.” It fits right. 

Widogast- _Caleb-_ appears to agree, as he brightens at hearing it. 

And then they’re at the front door, looking at each other. 

“Thank you, for having me today. It was… nice. I enjoyed myself. We work well together, I think,” Essek finds himself admitting if for nothing else than the pleased response it will elicit from... Caleb. 

Which it does- with a charming smile. “ _Ja_ , definitely. I love my friends dearly, but it is rare to find someone of a like mind. It is a nice change of pace sometimes.” 

And oh doesn’t Essek feel that more keenly than when he’s left the stoop of the ‘Xhorhaus’. 

For the rest of the day, and the one after that, Essek is running through the events and conversations of their lesson in his mind. And it keeps coming back to that empty bookcase. 

And that’s when he realised that most - if not all - of the books here in Rosohna are probably not in Common or Zemnian. It would require importing, or would be very rare, which is not very viable given the _war_. 

So he takes a little time to filter through his own collection once more. He takes out several volumes. Discards two of them. Declares a third too lucrative. Sets aside one for consideration, and then another, before dismissing the rest. 

He looks at the two books now side-by-side. They are written in Undercommon, for lack of an alternative, but Widogast- _Caleb-_ would appreciate it all the same he feels. It was easier for Essek to pick out relevant reading materials for him instead of Wid- Caleb wasting spells to search and translate on the fly in expensive bookshops. Bookshops that would probably not be immediately friendly to humans. 

Yes, this was the better alternative. 

For the most part, the two books covered the same key events, though maybe spanning slightly different time periods with an overlap. Would Caleb maybe want more recent history? Or very early, Kryn-establishing history? 

His indecision is ignored when a courier, already paid for handsomely, delivers a parcel the size of two books to the Xhorhaus the following day. 

And if anyone were to look inside the books they would find two inscriptions of the same manner that said: 

_“For Caleb Widogast, to welcome him and his friends to the Kryn Dynasty from Essek of Den Thelyss, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen.”_

For it simply would not do for a book to have no companions on the shelf, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh? What's this? _First name terms already?_ My, my.


	3. The Complication

Essek, prodigy of the prestigious Den Thelyss, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, and practitioner of high-level, ground breaking Dunamancy, was _pacing_.

He never paced. He floats. Everywhere. All the time. Whenever he can. In public, in private, in company, in solitude....usually. It was habitual, second nature now. And yet, in the early hours of the morning, still in his sleepwear, back and forth in front of his floor-to-ceiling bookcases, he was _pacing_. 

And the reason irked him. 

He was guilty. He was bored. He was lone-... He wanted stimulation. He needed distraction. And his very first instinct in this moment was to find Widogast. 

The human wizard. 

Whom he had known for less than a few weeks. 

Which _irked_ him. 

And so he paced some more. 

Essek had startled himself this morning, by readying for the day, sorting through paperwork at his desk, and then looking out of his window. The Marble Tome Conservatory could be seen across the way, its peaked roofs and towering spires gleaming like all other buildings in the Firmaments. It was only dwarfed by that of the Lucid Bastion itself, just out of the eyeline of Essek’s library window. And as he gazed at it, thinking of the volumes he next needed to consult and borrow for the line of his personal research developments, his mind wandered to the idea of _Widogast_ seeing the pride of their collective literatures- which jolted him sharply and he thrust the chair back in a pique of … _frustration_ and stood up. 

His brow remained as furrowed as when the thought had first struck him now as he paced back and forth, so disturbed was he. 

They _barely_ knew each other, had only had a small handful of lessons, of which only a couple had _really_ been invigorating- 

No, that was a lie. Their last session about Dunamancy had been the peak of their frisson, but the last meeting had excited him in a brand new way. A brand new, terrifying way. 

For their last meeting two days ago, he had arrived on their doorstep and knocked, as was customary. Caduceus was the one to greet him this time, with a friendly word and a kind smile. He is offered another cup of tea (as was now customary) and escorted through the parlour to the study door. As had become customary. Essek knocked and entered - as it had been _insisted_ that he was a guest in the house and welcome anywhere. Especially, as Jester had said, “this house was yours, Essek, of course you’re welcome here. And you’re like...our land lord or something!” 

He was not their land lord, the Den owned the property. But they didn’t seem to make- or care about- the distinction. They had insisted that they were happy to have him and he had the same freedom they did. Essek initially (quietly) disagreed with this, as guests were exactly that- _guests -_ and still should request access around the house and the host’s permission. However the Mighty Nein held no such ceremony- he shouldn’t be surprised at this point. They were very friendly and familiar with each other which they were determined to extend to him. As far as they were concerned, if you were there, you were free to treat the house as your own. 

And it was… a nice sentiment. They were good at making him feel welcome, and he was beginning to believe they really didn’t .. _care_ that he was from a prestigious Den. That too should have offended him on some level, but their casual (yet not condescending) dismissal of it made him a bit off-kilter. And yet they persisted, chipping away at him. In some moments he would almost give in, and others he would twitch to pull his mantle tighter around him. He wasn’t going to drop defences around them. They were still people of interest to the Dynasty and demanded careful watching no matter how many beacons they returned. 

And what interesting people they were. 

Caduceus was honing in on his preferred beverage tastes; ones that even Essek didn’t realise he had. It was always presented in a delicate cup with a chipped saucer. And he finished it every time. 

Fjord had installed a new coat peg in the hallway for if he ever were to take the mantle off. Initially this had bristled Essek, thinking it as their way of a cruel taunt of his preferred garb, but as he got to understanding them a little better at a time, he realised they were just being genuine in their own, unusual way. The thought of obliging the gesture did cross his mind as he entered the threshold of the Xhorhaus, but discarded it immediately as the idea of being that exposed around so many… it did not appeal. 

They now all had their names inscribed above the pegs, and Fjord had approached him a little later that day, and asked how he spelt _his_ name. Essek supplied the approximate spelling in Common and watched as Fjord noted it down with his tongue between his tusked teeth. He gave a ‘right, cheers!’ and went away, leaving Essek and Caleb bewildered. It wasn’t until Essek was leaving that he saw his name attached to the new peg that he understood. It was squished between Caleb’s and Fjord’s own allocated spaces, the sign a little wonky to compensate and yet...

And yet found himself still appreciating the sentiment. And realising that perhaps he was spending a lot of time here. Perhaps too much. 

Maybe it was not a bad thing however. He had not quite meant to implement his presence this way into their lives. He was more supposed to have been an intermediary between them and The Bright Queen and her court, their overseer while they settled into the Dynasty, as it were, and this familiarity afforded him the access to keep the necessary surveillance on them.

And yet, they did not treat him as such. Nott would sometimes rush by on her way up or down stairs and yell a ‘hey Essek!” and then fail at hiding her attempt to see his feet. 

Beauregard would usually give him an appraising look in passing- which he returned coolly- before raising an eyebrow and grinning with a smart remark on her tongue. She was growing on him. 

Yasha was always quiet but would give him a nod, a small wave, and a soft ‘hello’. Something he was sure to return, and he thanked her for delivering the textbook to Caleb. 

Yeza was still nervous around him, and Essek could not fault that. But he was courteous to the halfling, and gently enquired to his health. Yeza squeaked at that and made a pained move to leave the conversation. Essek let him. 

Jester always hugged him. Or offered to. He once declined, feeling a bit too overly familiar too quickly with the lot in their first week in Rosohna. He knew that first hug was a mistake. Until he realised _he_ made the mistake by spurning the next one. He floated away feeling particularly guilty at her crestfallen face and berated himself for the whole journey home and then some. Some of the reprimanding was at himself _for_ _berating himself_ \- for why should he feel guilt over disappointing strangers? He turned down people all the time. Sometimes he revelled in it, especially those that sneered at his standing and status. But then he scolded himself once more for dismissing their hospitality and . . . possible extensions of friendship. They weren’t the people at court, or out of his Den looking up at him in jealousy. 

What was Essek to do? He was the _Shadowhand_ . A prodigy of his Den. An experienced practitioner of Dunamantic arts. He was, for want of a better word, singular. Anyone would sidle up to him just to abuse his position and prestige. Many try. Many fail. His guard was there for reasons, and yet the Mighty Nein arrived in Rosohna with a stolen beacon held up high and offer kindness, and friendship. To _him_. They didn’t ask for him to be their overseer, he was appointed. They wouldn’t have known he would be, and they hadn't really intended to initially hand the beacon over either from their discussions afterwards. He understood their reasons, and while selfish, were for survival. He couldn’t fault them that. Whichever way he turned it, they didn't appear to have maneouvered themselves into a position to specifically gain access to _him_. 

So they most likely were _not_ Empire spies, and yet there was a Cobalt Soul monk, a not-goblin halfling Empire-originating woman and her alchemist husband who _did_ have ties to the Cerberus Assembly. So he still had to keep watch, just in case. 

It gives Essek headaches, if he was honest. 

The last of their party was the wizard. Who possibly held a stronger claim to ties to the Assembly than the alchemist and posessed a guarded past on top of which. He had been an obvious entry to the group, with his wide eyes and keen yearning for knowledge. Essek had approached him with this in mind, and Widogast had opened the door very literally for him. Keeping access to the group was important for surveillance, especially for surveillance that scrying alone could not yield. It provided insight, personal scrutiny. Details and specifics. Inside understanding. And the more Essek learned, the less he knew when it came to this group. Especially Widogast.

Widogast’s study had become the part of the house he was most familiar with. Jester had toured him once at Essek’s request. He had declined a tour previously, but then after also declining a hug, decided to ask just in case to make it up to her. Jester had _leapt_ at the opportunity and practically tugged him along by the hand. He figured this was a positive response. Essek had been curious to see how they had furnished, this was true, but he also wanted to be on her good side. She had been all wild gestures and happy tidbits and little stories and colourful anecdotes- she was, in a word, wonderful. Very likeable, aggressively so even. He had seen the upstairs, and the developing Brenatto laboratory. He had seen her and Beauregard’s room, (though not Fjord’s or Caduceus’ because they weren’t there to seek permission for at the time), and the dining area and kitchen. 

There was a secret project going on in the bottom of the tower, and Essek was more than a little afraid to ask about what else they could possibly be installing now. His cautious enquiry was met with a mischievous wink and a ‘y _ou’ll seeee!’_.

Jester left him to go chase her pet after that, and he had then joined Caleb who was coming in from said project. He was wiping his hands on a discoloured towel and pulling his sleeves down as he greeted him with a warm smile, striding with the gait of a man who’d done a hard day’s labour. This only increased Essek’s apprehension about what big change could possibly be happening in that tower that caused Caleb such exertion. He didn’t seem bothered by it, and held the library door open for Essek to glide through before setting off to get their ‘usual’ libations without even asking what Essek wanted this time. 

He really was becoming a regular in the Xhorhaus. 

Left alone, hovering in the large study, Essek could see that more improvements and additions had been made in his absence. 

There is more general clutter dotting about unassumingly on the the large table. There’s a large glass globe resting on a wire stand in the middle of it. Piles of unused paper stacking up on one of the dining chairs- with a couple of sheet teetering dangerously on the top ready to float down at a weak breeze. A selection of varying quills fanning out on the now unused-desk, with three new ink bottles accompanying them. Little traces of magical components litter the tarnished tea tray they regularly used, with nothing sinister that Essek could determine. A simple magnifying glass and scale set were now resting on an otherwise disused sideboard.

The walls now also have some new accessories- runic references, enlarged for easy viewing no doubt. An alchemical elements table, hand-drawn in careful ruled lines was also pinned. Common mathematical and arcane formulae are hanging above the desk in a messy but informed fashion. There did appear to be patterns to the system the longer he studied it. It was… organised disarray. And if that didn’t suit the Mighty Nein down to a T he didn’t know what else did, he found himself chuckling. 

And yet, despite all of these new upgrades to the study, the first observation Essek made was a quick involuntary scan of the slanted bookcase. On it, he sees four books. Three are resting on their backs atop each other, no titles, and very thin, shelved low and to the side of the bookcase. He judges them to be journals or somesuch. Going by the minor curling on the pages, he guesses slightly used already. Unimportant. 

But the fourth book, standing tall, up on the second-highest shelf- Caleb’s eyeheight he wagers - between two bookends is one of the very history texts Essek had sent him. The bookends are two plain clay sculptures, unpainted, but unmistakably, abstractly cat-shaped. One of them had lost a triangular ear already. The other's tail was hanging on precariously. 

There was a curious feeling that curled up in his chest seeing one of his own tomes pride of place in this room, Caleb’s own sanctum in the house. Like it belonged there, slightly leaning to one side, between two hand-made cat sculpture, and Essek had only been holding on to it temporarily all this time. It just _fit_. 

His musings were interrupted by Caleb returning with a cup of steaming tea in each hand with which he gingerly travelled to avoid spilling. He looks to the clutter on the table and lack of space, and then to the bay window area of the room.

There were two ‘new’ armchairs facing the window, as well as a footstool, and a table beyond them. The first was a sleek, deep blue, high-back piece, with dark armrests and shining embroidery. A patch on the back here, and a fray of the upholstery there betrayed it’s modernity, but it was still a lovely addition. The second was wider, a little lower, and a subtle yellow- this had already been here before. The footstool in front of it, however, had not been, and simply offended Essek by being a garish green-and-orange-patterned monstrosity. _Where_ on this plane of existence had they found such a gaudy piece?

To his mortification, his distaste must have shown on his face as he followed Caleb over, because his company chuckled at Essek before setting the tea cups on the coffee table. Caleb rubs a hand on the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“Ah, ja, it is certainly an item,” he says looking down at it hopelessly. “But Nott loved it and insisted on getting it for me. I didn’t have the heart to say ‘no’ to her. Frumpkin likes it, though.” And to prove such a thing, his familiar appears from _somewhere_ and leaps onto the eyesore, and beds down, daring Essek to comment. Of _course_ the cat liked it. 

Caleb offers Essek the nicer chair without question, and Essek finds a cushion- silk, pinched in the centre with a silver button, tassels hanging from the corners and assuredly _new_. He settles his mantle around him, and lowers into the chair. Caleb follows suit, crossing one leg over his knee and reaching for his tea. 

“I see you’ve made-”  
  
“Do you like the-"

They start at the same time, stopping only to laugh quietly. 

“I ah, thank you, truly, for the tomes you sent. They are very interesting,” Caleb says. He is smiling softly into his cup, avoiding Essek’s gaze. 

Essek settles his hands clasped into his lap and crosses his legs also. Caleb's eyes follow the movement over the edge of his cup. “I am pleased to hear of it. They are popular works for referencing and since you made quick work of the textbook I sent, I felt that these two would suffice for perhaps more than a few hours,” he teases with a raised eyebrow. Caleb flashes him a shy grin. “I only saw one of them though. Is the other-”

“Oh! That is one I am still working through, it is making for fascinating bed-time reading and I am quick to point the blame to you for my lack of sleep these days when my friends ask why I yawn at breakfast. But it is _most_ intriguing. There was a couple of paragraphs regarding-”

Caleb continues on about the merits of the second book, of his fascination of the development of their history and culture and the city. By all rights it’s a hook for a very in-depth conversation, especially for both of _them_. Any other time, Essek would have immediately taken Caleb up on it, ready to expand on Caleb’s provocative questions and genuine interest. Especially after their previous foray into Dumanacy. Essek would be lying if he didn’t take immense pleasure from the high that came from their discussions that day. Conversing with Caleb about his own speciality had lit a fire in Essek’s mind. Like a furnace, Essek had gone home that day and worked and written and penned and outlined all the new threads that had been inspired until he had run out of steam. Some of them were not new ideas, but new light had definitely been shed on some old problems with Caleb's fresh insight. It was immediately addictive and he was ready to be stoked again. He would be very remiss in saying that he didn’t see the same heat and hunger for more mirrored in Caleb’s eyes. 

And yet, despite all their similarities and thirst for academic discussion and debate, all Essek can think of is the image of the book- _his_ book- sitting at Caleb’s bedside, waiting to be read in the quiet hours of the night. 

Essek finds a hitch in his breath at the _intimacy_ of such a picture only to come back to the present when he realises that Caleb has stopped talking and is looking uneasy. To his horror, Essek realises that in his wandering thoughts, he had made Caleb feel ignored, unheard- or worse, shameful for simply being enthusiastic. And that was unforgivable. Essek remembers that shame from his youth well, and almost too keenly in the moment.

He stands up immediately, floats, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, Mister Widogast-” and Essek flinches as Caleb’s face falls further by just a fraction. Essek scolds himself. “ _Caleb_. I apologise. I have had a few long days and my attention is not what it should be. I fear-” he sighs deeply. “I fear I am not very good company at the moment, and only stopped by to check in on you- yourselves. As my-” (friends) “-wards, I have a responsibility to make sure you are cared for and comfortable.” Caleb’s face is stoic. Not in an angry way, but akin to how Essek had first seen him in the throne room before he pleaded to the Queen. Schooled, almost emotionless. He was calm, mouth a thin line and brow furrowed sadly, just watching him. 

Essek presses on. “I am very pleased to hear that you are enjoying the books, they are some of the most reliable sources and if you are to settle here permanently,” Essek doesn't find the thought unappealing, “then you are better off having quality references.” It was professional. Safe. Gutless. 

Caleb carefully sits his cup down and stands slowly from where he had been watching Essek. While floating, Essek is eye to eye with him, and Essek swallows the instinct to go higher, to go lower, to just _go_ immediately. Caleb quickly studies Essek- his face, his eyes, his body language or what he can see of it due to the mantle. But he doesn’t judge. He just gives an understanding nod. Which Essek detests. He doesn't want to be understood. Not when he himself doesn't _understand_.

“Okay, ja. That's- uh, I am sorry to hear you are burdened, but of course you are... understandably busy. It must be a lot of work, and I imagine we do not make your load any lighter...Ah, please, take care of yourself.“ Caleb’s arm twitches and for a moment Essek fears he may reach out, but he abandons the motion. “Thank you. For - ah, checking in with us. Your concern for our wellbeing is greatly appreciated. Truly. You have been very vital in allowing us to stay and set up roots.” 

His voice is soft and small and betraying just enough empathy that he nearly covers up his hurt. It pains Essek to know that they would both smirk at the pun made at any other time, and yet neither of them so much as blink. There is two feet of space between them now and it feels like a ravine. All because Essek’s mind wandered and panicked and lost control of a simple conversation. Caleb's gaze is pinning Essek to the spot and it's so considerate that's it's disarming.

However, if there is one thing he does have it's manners, and manners allow him to keep composure. They were rules, they had applications. They made _sense_.

So he nods his gratitude. “I shall inform my Den of your contentedness. Apologies I could not stay longer. Also-” and Caleb’s face has already frowned further, “I will be busy over the coming days so probably will not… be able to visit. However if there is anything that you need me for urgently, please have Jester contact me and I shall make myself available as soon as possible.” The partial lie rolls off of his tongue like ash and he all but spits it out. 

It was a cowardly thing, what he was doing. He knew that. Caleb probably knew that, but didn’t know _why._ But it was the safest option right now. He needed to think. To explain this away. And he couldn’t do it sitting in a dark blue chair across from a man who had the potential to be his intellectual equal. So he schools his face to not betray a mote of this. Instead he gives a practiced bow, and escorts himself from the study.

Caleb does not follow. 

* * *

Essek does not recall too much of the journey home. He is an automaton through the Firmament streets until crossing the threshold of his preferred tower. His mind is whirling and whirling and his heart is beating too fast for exerting no energy striding. He felt like he should have been striding. 

When did it become so _easy_ to be around him? To view him as less than an access point to the newcomers and more like a ... peer? Like a...friend, almost. Like someone who could fluster him with such a _private image_. The image itself wasn't even _scandalous_. But it still felt so deeply personal. Almost sacred. When - why- _how_ -

The books were gifts. Just like the house was. They are bargaining items, ones to appease and appeal. Emotional bribes. That’s all. Nothing more. Yes. He doesn't need to question his motives there. 

No, he doesn't.

_No_. 

In a huff he undoes and removes the mantle, it feels too heavy on his body. He throws it unceremoniously in the direction of his desk and doesn’t care where it lands. He instead floats in the centre of his study, his library, his sanctum, clenching his fists and staring hard at the two new gaps in his collections. 

He throws his head back and releases a harsh breath through his nose. Closing his eyes, he massages his temples roughly. The Mighty Nein were not _supposed_ to be this exhausting. Caleb was a trap. A honey pot. They were surely sweetening Essek up, just as he attempts to infiltrate their ranks. And it's backfiring on him in every way conceivable. When had he lost control of this whole situation. Did he ever really have it? Who _are_ the Mighty Nein? Who _is_ Caleb Widogast?

He briefly entertains the idea of begging the Bright Queen to assign someone else, but he rebuffs the thought before it even finishes in disgust. Even if he were to _somehow_ convince his Den to relinquish care of them, and the Bright Queen mercilessly let’s him free without questioning why, the thought of handing them off to someone else to be watched over by was more repulsive than not ever seeing them again. And now he's just going around in circles.

And that makes this so complicated. 

They had ensnared him, charmed him, _enchanted_ him with… kind words. Familiarity. Warm welcomes and hugs. A cup with a chipped saucer that was now his by default. With a coat hook in a wall with his name beside all theirs.

With a dark, elegant chair and a brand new cushion among a plethora of recycled furniture, very likely picked out with _him_ specifically in mind because they wanted him around, _expected_ him around. 

With a wizard with intelligent eyes and a keen mind and an interest in all that Essek pursues. 

And he was helpless against it all. 

* * *

Essek had slept restlessly that night, going about his usual activities sans the Mighty Nein the following day. How had they become so unfailingly routine in less than a month? Another of their beguiling allures, no doubt. 

He committed to his persona of one-month-ago-Essek, Pre-Mighty-Nein-Shadowhand, to cope. It was not a difficult headspace to slip into, and his work carried on as normal at the Bastion. Except when he saw the surrounding gardens and was reminded of Yasha. Or he witnessed a couple walking down the street and thought of the Brenattos. Or when he heard two guards laughing and saw Beau and Jester. A lantern represented Caduceus and his tree today. A half-orc scholar walks past him, laboured with scrolls and Essek simply stares. 

The book in his hands symbolises another on a bookcase, on a table, in a holster, on a bed stand-

Sleep is less easy that night also. 

And then he woke up, determined to do better. And then he looked out of his window, and sees the silhouette of the Higher Learning facility, and then his thoughts stray to taking Caleb into the Marble Tomes Conservatory in an effort to - to _what_?

Ask Caleb’s forgiveness? Caleb wouldn’t know what for. To show trust in Caleb? The Mighty Nein? That they could have access to their most important documents? 

It was a ridiculous notion. Truly. 

But.. it would make Caleb light up again. And Essek wants to see it- blue eyes flickering across titles and signs and authors unkown. To watch his fingers trail along the spines, thumb carefully through aged parchment, drift across words as the information imparts from script to psyche. His eyes would widen, his mouth form an ‘o’. He would mutter under his breath, and quickly reference another section, and look to Essek for consultation and explanation and then- 

No. It was a _really_ ridiculous idea. 

They would get into trouble. _He_ would. A man he has known for a blink of an eye was not worth a reprimand or worse of that regard. 

It was the worst idea. 

And so he paced. And paced. And paced. 

* * *

When he had made up his mind, and settles his determination to enact it, it was the morning of a court session in the Bright Queen’s throne room. Which was interrupted by none other than the Mighty Nein. 

Their information is invaluable and time-limited. Within the day they are preparing for a stake-out. Within two they are riding towards Bazzoxan and away from Rosohna. Away from him. 

Essek doesn’t have the chance to ask Caleb to the Conservatory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 1: The Happy Room next to the Brenatto's bedroom is now The Laboratory. I wanted the library/study to be Caleb's Own Space. For.... reasons. 
> 
> Note 2: This fic is canon divergent, it is also canon ignorant. There is new info regarding our drow wizard in the EGTW book (an incredible book by the way) that is not utilised in this fic. 
> 
> Note 3: Love y'all and hope you're keeping well at the moment. Hope to ease some boredom and bad feelings away for even a little while with some of this story <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Martin from the ETFC server for starting what was a frenzied exchange of ideas and has turned into...this. 
> 
> Love y'all on the server <3 
> 
> Comments and likes are love!


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